


I'm afraid to tell you who I adore

by JHarkness



Category: Snowpiercer (2013)
Genre: M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 11:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2066382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JHarkness/pseuds/JHarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weary eyes, tinged with red from exhaustion and blood, still refused to close. Edgar followed each shallow breath Curtis took, sleep refusing to come.</p>
<p>Sleep never came.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm afraid to tell you who I adore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [13thDoctor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/13thDoctor/gifts).



> I saw Snowpiercer last night, and let me tell you, that movie ruined me. It was absolutely stunning. So here is a contribution, hopefully not my last, being posted in an attempt to convey my adoration fully. Enjoy!

Sleeping was difficult.

Not because of the rattling of the train car or the blood crusting under his lip. Not even because of the muffled moans of procreating passengers, or the ones who were alone and attempting to remember the feeling of another healthy body pressed against them. The sounds were almost comforting in their quintessential human nature. Even the smells of unbathed adults and sick children provided small comforts, small reminders that they were still something close to alive.

Sleeping was difficult because of Curtis.

Edgar could almost touch him. Spread stiffly over the cots they pretended were decent beds, he could feel every minute breath the older man expelled from his lungs. If he could muster the courage, he would reach his bruised and scarred fingers through the miniscule gap between their bodies. He laid awake some nights thinking about how to destroy that space. He could take his hand. His neck. Kiss him roughly, with shaky breaths and sharp teeth and hard tongues. Or he could kiss him slowly, softly; he could take his time and inhale the rich taste of Curtis—protein squares and blood and danger.

Sleeping was impossible.

The other passengers questioned Edgar’s well-being when they noticed the dark circles molding themselves to his face. He brushed them off with tired shrugs and exhausted placations. His friends brought him extra food and water—his enemies took his state as an opportunity. Black, blue, and red replaced the pale color of his skin. And yet he continued to lie awake, hand pressed under his bandaged cheek, and wait. One breath. Two breaths. Three, and he would reach a tentative hand forward. Four, and Curtis’ eyes would be open, and a smile would be bright on his typically callous face.

Five, and he would whisper, “Get some sleep, Edgar.”

But he never did

**Author's Note:**

> This was just something small to get myself writing again. It's been a while. Something longer might come soon.


End file.
